


pray for me (now, and at the hour of my death)

by hurryup, nea_writes



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, M/M, Manipulation, Oral Sex, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:45:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10139630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurryup/pseuds/hurryup, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nea_writes/pseuds/nea_writes
Summary: Neah leaned forward, the look in his eyes half-lidded with an odd hunger, and Link felt his shoulders growing tense, wary of the animalistic desire lingering there, alight with fascination. "If I were you, little crow, I'd be more careful about how I addressed my master.""You're not my master. Leverrier is.""That's the same thing, and we both know it."





	

The moment the inn door shut behind Link he turned to take careful stock of their room. Neah ignored Link in favor of heading to the lone bed and Link grimaced, knowing he'd have to sleep on the floor. Not only was Allen's body still recovering from Mugen's wound, but there was also no way Neah would sleep on the floor himself. With a delighted moan Neah sank onto the bed, propping himself up on his hands and throwing his head back, exposing his pale neck.

Link jerked his gaze away, instead landing on the lone window in their room. He crossed the room and glanced out, finding only the road in front of the inn riddled with passersby. He pulled the curtains closed, wary of anyone possibly looking up and finding them.

"They're not going to find us," Neah said suddenly, breaking the silence that had weighed between them since they'd first escaped. "You can relax some."

Link scowled, refusing to look behind him and see Allen's body draped on the bed. "It's better to check than risk being caught because of arrogance."

"Arrogance!" Neah barked, turning onto his stomach and laughing. "You can't possibly call me arrogant when you work for a man who claims the word of God!" Neah seemed to find this even funnier and he laughed more, an ugly hateful laugh that Link couldn't stand to hear from Allen.

He turned with a sharp snap of his heels, glaring at what of he could see of Neah. White hair— too long, so much longer than it had been before— a curved back, stomach pressed into the mattress, the fold of his arms and swell of muscles visible even through his shirt.

"And you aren't doing the same?" Link demanded, anger licking up his chest, coiling hot with indignation. 

At that Neah's laughter abruptly cut off, and he glanced over his shoulder at Link, resting his head on his crossed arms. He couldn't see it, but Link was certain he was smiling.

"Me? Claiming the word of God?" He snorted, facing forward and away from Link again, propping his chin up. "I could care less about that. I'm not so sanctimonious— your Order though? Nothing but hypocrites."

It didn't escape Link's notice that he'd deflected the topic away from himself, but he couldn't forgive the slight. He stepped closer, until he could see the side of his face better, a sigh escaping him as he caught closed lashes resting against a smooth cheek. Like this, with his eyes closed as if asleep, it almost looked like Neah wasn't there.

At his approach though a golden eye fluttered open, landing on Link with a startling intensity. His hand and arm hid his mouth, but the corners of his eye curved in a cold smile. "What? Are you offended?"

"Nothing you say could affect me," Link snapped, and Neah's laughter turned rich and dark, mocking him. "You're a violent child in the midst of a temper tantrum, Neah, and very little more."

"Has my criticism of the Order offended your  _personal honor?_  How like you, Link. Loyal until the end. I'll have to send a letter to your trainer. You've been very well broken-in," Neah laughed again, face dipping down into his folded arms as his shoulders shook with the rolling laughter. From the beginning it had been like this, complete and total disregard for anything Link could say. Nothing Link said moved those apathetic eyes, turned that gaze to him with consideration. It was infuriating, to be so agitated by someone so composed. "Well, I've got some news for you,  _watchdog_. The Order doesn't care about you."

"I think I've heard enough."

Neah ignored him, eyes slipping close and hiding the bright excitement lingering there, the sick thrill. "They're using you, Link. Do I really have to spell this out for you?"

Tone clipped. "I said  _enough—_ ”

"Don't be petulant,” Neah started easily, head rocking slightly as if singing along. Link's anger sharpened into a scorching heat that threatened to escape him, a fine tremble starting in his fingertips. "Here I thought shutting up and listening was your specialty."

Neah leaned forward, the look in his eyes half-lidded with an odd hunger, and Link felt his shoulders growing tense, wary of the animalistic desire lingering there, alight with fascination. "And if I were you, little crow, I'd be more careful about how I addressed my master."

"You're not my master. Leverrier is."

"That's the same thing, and we both know it," Neah said, scoffing quietly at him. Link hesitated, taken aback by the indifference in his voice, but Neah's eyes immediately shot towards him, painfully aware of him in a way that distracted Link. Without warning Neah lifted himself on his forearms, no longer lax and uncaring but staring at Link with gleaming eyes, amusement glittering in his smile. 

"Do you want to see?" Neah asked, almost eagerly. "Do you want to see just how far I can take this little temper tantrum of mine, Link?" He shifted suddenly, sitting up and startling Link who stepped back. Gone was the casual dismissal and here was the gleam in his eyes. Link felt trapped under the golden gaze of an animal, sight locked on him with a fervor of absolute focus that unnerved him. He stilled, back stiffening and knees locking in place, refusing to move but unsure if it was by his choice or by virtue of the man before him.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood gracefully, and Link realized very suddenly that Allen was taller than him— had even grown some, maybe. It was hard to tell when he was coming closer, only a breath away, crowding Link, obscuring his vision, his smell, even in the way that heat traveled between them, tangible. 

"Get on your knees."

Link jerked back, shocked. Neah seemed perfectly serious, gold eyes slowly tracking up the length of Link's body. When he reached his face he quirked a brow, as if to say  _Well? Get on with it._   

"I'm not kneeling for you," Link said, feeling a fine tremble begin in his hands. Neah cocked his head to the side, smiling and then laughing lightly.

"Yes, you will," Neah's lips curled over the words, sanguine and confident. "And do you know  _why_ you're going to kneel?"

Link said nothing, and Neah stepped closer, close enough that Link could see the flicker of Neah's eyelashes when his gaze dropped to his rosary. 

"Because you're  _weak_ _,_ Link. Because it's all you know."

Link repressed a flinch when Neah's left hand slowly rose, a fingertip pressing firmly on the tender skin showing above his black turtleneck and just under his jaw. Languidly, as if the world stood still just for him, he trailed his fingers down, black nails catching on the fabric of his shirt and snagging, until he settled on top the cords where the ends of his rosary met. Allen's red hand looked almost mangled against the fabric of Link's shirt.

"It's funny you wear this," Neah began, ghosting across each bead. Link watched, carefully still. Even though Neah made no move to hurt him he was still so close— close enough to feel his warm breath on his exposed skin, to feel the heat of his body. 

Neah's fingers encircled the cross, and he rubbed a thumb on the fine grain of the wood. It was so strange to see Allen's hands all the time. Neah never bothered to hide them behind gloves.  
  
"Get on your knees," Neah repeated, voice now dangerously soft. "I won't ask again."

Link's knees buckled in, thighs tensing, and at his hesitation Neah's smile grew into a grin. Neah gripped his rosary and pulled down hard, the clack of beads obscenely loud.

Neah tugged until the beads dug into the back of Link's neck. Link's knees drew closer together and he licked his lips before carefully kneeling, thighs burning with how slowly he shifted. 

"There we go. Now, was that so hard?"

Link shook his head, eyes fixed on Neah's shoes. He flinched when Neah abruptly dropped his rosary, the wooden cross falling harmlessly back to his chest. 

Neah prowled around Link slowly, something predatory in his patience. Already, the air had become thick with the heady tang of humiliation; of Neah's own playful, laughing control over Link. He clenched his teeth, trying to focus on the window at the far end of the room. The whorls and grains of the wooden floor. The peeling green wallpaper. Anything but Neah's self-satisfied smirk, or the way Allen's body wore it so damningly well. Because he really did wear it stunningly. He looked like some young god of revenge; some fantasy of absolute power.

"That's what I thought," Neah said softly. Fighting a shiver, Link did nothing. Said nothing.

There was nothing he could possibly say, nothing that might preserve his dignity. It was not his place to speak. He felt that much had already been made perfectly clear. Better to say nothing, to hold his head high and let it happen—

"Hm," Neah went on. His eyes were very bright; he seemed to be marveling at his own handiwork, the execution of his command. "What now, what now?"

He stopped in front of Link, a hand on his chin, fingers teasing at his lips as he contemplated Link. Then, a slow smile grew, dragging his fingers with it before he dropped his hand to cup Link's face, the rough texture of his left hand pulling at Link's skin. He forcibly tilted Link's head up, beads pinching at the back of his neck as he grunted. Link's hands jerked up from reflex, but he held them down, hating the knowing gleam in Neah's eyes.

"You know what, Link? I think I'd like for you to take off all your clothes."

"Excuse me?" Link blanched, forgetting his self-made rule of silence in the full force of his surprise. He very nearly toppled over, but Neah's grip on him tightened, holding him still.

"Why not? I certainly like your face well enough. Who's to say I won't feel the same about your body?" The more he spoke, the more the idea seemed to engage Neah. He seemed to be developing a taste for this. This power. "Go on. There's no need to be shy."

Link hesitated for a long moment. For a good ten seconds, he remained frozen, processing the command and weighing his own pride against his instinctual, gut reaction to bring his hands to his shirt and obey. Neah's eyes never once left him, allowing him the moment's indecision. His version of mercy, Link supposed. Still, there was something there— something in the wash of those cold eyes that twisted a knot in Link's stomach. Something almost sensual. 

Why ask this of Link? Because he wanted to demean him? Because he wanted to prove a point? Because he really, genuinely wanted to see Link? Because he simply  _could_ _?_

Link said nothing. Neah returned the favor, though his eyes never left Link, not even once. Link realized he was being allowed a moment's hesitation. A willful act of mercy. Maybe the only mercy Link would ever receive from him.

Perhaps it was no wonder that Neah would indulge Link's uncertainty. After all, Link's final response was never in question.

There was no real choice to be made.

Link reached first for the rosary around his neck, but Neah made a disapproving noise, hand finally dropping away.

"Not that. Keep that on."

This gave Link pause. Slowly, he let the beads slip through his fingers and fall back around his neck.

He started by taking off his socks, which Neah seemed to find funny if his little laugh was anything to go by. It was a place to start that wouldn't overwhelm Link. He set them on the floor next to him. Moving on to the rest wouldn't be so painless.

Link pulled his black shirt off over his head quickly, angling his head through the collar carefully so that the rosary wouldn't be dragged with it. There was something awkward about the sensation of the beads settling on his skin, a little cool at first, but warming up to match his body temperature. 

Slowly, Link lowered his hands to his belt— then froze, and suddenly feeling more uncomfortable and more exposed and more desperate than ever, he looked up to Neah for guidance. He pleaded with Neah silently,  _Isn't this enough? Aren't you satisfied?_

Neah's waiting eyes gave him all the answer he needed. Link closed his eyes, took in a measured breath, and unlooped his belt, tugging his pants down his thighs. The rosary clattered against his bare skin when he moved, the cross lying flat over the anxious beat of his heart. It made him feel obscene.

Neah didn't say anything, not at first. His eyes raked over Link's form with such casual possessiveness, eyes big and full of the look Link was beginning to interpret as open appreciation. 

God, he hated himself for it, but somehow, seeing that look writ across Allen's features... gratified something incredibly deep and solitary inside Link.

He'd never felt so  _seen_ in his entire life.

Neah stopped dead directly in front of Link. Indulgently, he leaned forwards to run a hand through Link's hair, combing through his bangs and pulling at the strands in his braid, almost painfully so, and it was so unwelcome, it was nauseating. It was—

Neah's eyes went terribly, terribly wide.

"My God, Link, are you getting  _hard?"_

Link wanted to deny it. He wanted to twist and scream and claw his way away. His entire body was thrumming with a minute tremble; body flushing with shame. Link ducked his head, feeling his chest constrict with the hot beginnings of panic. He could hardly stand the rapt expression Neah was making, raking his body up and down with his eyes, could hardly stand to feel so exposed. Could hardly stand how his imagination was filling in where Neah's touch could lead, what it might feel like to touch him, to be touched by him. Link's entire body was reacting to the sudden and somewhat alien need to feel him, and it was making him ill.

"You've got to be kidding me," Neah went on, but there was no mistaking the smile in his tone. There was a sweet note of satisfaction, even wonder. "Just look at you. You're even worse than I thought you'd— hey, didn't anyone ever fucking tell you it's not  _polite_ to look away when you're being spoken to?"

Neah's grip on Link's hair tightened, yanking him again, tearing his gaze away from the floor and towards his face. The both of them locked eyes, and this time, Link didn't dare look away. 

"That's better."

As if rewarding him for his good behavior, Neah released his grip on Link's hair. Feathering down across Link's temple, against his cheek, his hand wandered instead to cup his chin, tilting it just up slightly as he examined Link anew. With Link positioned so far beneath him, he had to crouch, just slightly, and Link found himself craning his neck.

"I really do like you like this," Neah murmured. He traced Link's lips with the pad of his thumb. 

"I despise you," Link said mindlessly.

"That's impudence again, Link," Neah said. He lowered himself to one knee, meeting Link at eye level. "We'll work that out of you yet, don't worry. Break you in proper."

"I'm not—"

Whatever Link was about to say, it was cut off by a sound of surprise— something between a choke and a cry.  Neah grasped Link's jaw and turned his head aside roughly, draping a hot kiss against Link's jaw. The sensation was completely unexpected. Intrusive. Alien. His heart seized up, color flushing to his face.

Without releasing his grip on Link's face, Neah tilted back. With his one free hand, he toyed idly with the rosary about Link's bare neck. He rolled one bead between his fingers, red against red.  

"My God, you Order types are so terribly repressed. It's sort of funny, really."

With a sharp tug, Neah yanked Link forwards by the rosary. He looked to meet Allen's gray eyes, beads digging into the back of his neck. 

Another kiss, this time nipping at the column of Link's neck. Link squirmed, biting back the sounds that were building at the back of the throat— sobs and screams and, worst of all, moans and sighs and all other sorts of sounds that did not belong to Neah. Neah, and the ugliness of his touch.

This was a betrayal. A betrayal of Allen.

"Please don't," Link said.

"Don't? Don't do what?" Neah leaned in close, words ghosting over the shell of Link's ear. Then, Link's breath caught in his throat as Neah moved to take his earlobe into his mouth, working it gently with the suggestion of his teeth. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, won't you?"

"Don't. Please. Not like this." 

"Not like this?" Neah repeated. Link felt Neah's laugh before he heard it; it ran between their bodies like an electric current. The first tremor before an earthquake. A shiver traveled down his spine; a shot of bitter cold in complete contrast to the feverish heat of Neah's body. "Why, are you not enjoying this? It certainly looks like you are. You wouldn't  _lie_ to me, would you?"

Neah's lips were wandering, finding the point of Link's pulse at the nape of his neck. Link pursed his lips, fighting back any kind of vocal response he might make.

"You should never, ever lie to your master, Link," Neah mouthed against Link's skin, voice rich and dark. "That's an order. Do I make myself clear?"

Link was paralyzed, unable to respond. Neah leaned back up, took one look at him, and laughed, taking advantage of Link's inaction to press the soft tease of a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

It felt heavenly.

Like everything he'd ever wanted.

Did Link actually want to stop this? To stop Allen's hands in his hair, Allen's lips around his ear— did he want to stop this? 

"You know what? Fine," Allen said simply, abruptly leaning back and releasing Link.

Link's heart stuttered, and not from relief, no, but something darker, something—

 "Have it your way," Allen said, cocking his head, and  _God,_  did Link want this. But Allen was turning away, lifting smoothly from the floor to settle on the edge of the bed, disregarding Link entirely, and  _no, no don't ignore me—_

 "Wait," Link said, suddenly very breathless. All at once, he felt desperate— desperate not to lose this piece of Allen. He surged forward on his knees, grasping Neah's thighs so tightly it might have been painful, searching Allen's gray eyes.  _"No, no—"_

"No, what?" Allen asked, smiling softly, looking down at him, and Link was wretched, a fool, but he  _wanted_ this.

"Don't stop," Link said at last, eyes closing, relishing in Allen's rewarding touch back on his hair, the tug on the rosary— unkind, harsh. Allen's voice, the smile clear in his words.

"Good boy," Neah smoothed back Link's bangs, fingers curving behind his ear and trailing down his neck, warm, and for the smallest of moments he let himself believe it was Allen's hand resting against his neck, almost tender.

The moment was broken as Neah tugged ruthlessly on the rosary, bringing Link abruptly closer with a stuttered gasp, between his spread knees, inches from him. Like this, it felt overwhelmingly real, and he looked up, meeting Allen's gray eyes.

"Now beg for it."

Link stiffened, made worse when Neah jerked on the rosary upwards, forcing Link higher on his knees and closer to Neah's smile— so different and so wrong on Allen's face. The wooden beads were borderline uncomfortable at the back of his neck, pulling at his skin and pinching, tugging at his hair. 

"Please. Please let me."

"Let you what?" Neah said, smile growing, and Link focused only on the sound, on the feel.

"Let me— let me touch you."

Neah sighed, a sound so loaded with genuine disappointment that Link was suddenly sent into a panic,  _I can do better, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, please—_

"You're going to have to do much better than that if you want to impress me.”

Neah's grip on Link began to slacken, gradually pushing him away. Link swallowed hard, feeling desperate with the sick need to keep Neah's attention on him.

"Please, let me suck you off," Link said in a rush. "Let me get you off.  _Please_ _."_

Neah paused, considering this.

"Now  _that's_ better," he said, eyes glittering with cold humor.

Link felt a hot, sick stab of relief.

Fraught with nerves and nearly sick to his stomach, he looked to Neah for permission. Neah nodded his assent slowly, searching gaze never leaving him.

Wordlessly, Link spread his fingers, thumbs trailing the inseam of Neah's pants as his hands slid up towards his hips, fingers coming up and over to trace his hipbones. He hesitated only briefly before tugging Neah's zipper loose.

Neah's hands fisted into Link's hair, guiding Link down towards his cock.

Link took the head into his mouth, swiping his tongue the slit tentatively, just testing it out. At the sensation, Neah's grip tightened— moving down to grasp at the rosary strung about Link's neck. 

Link ghosted one hand over the jut of Neah's hipbone before wrapping it around the shaft. Neah gasped softly, breath in a rush, cock twitching in Link's warm hands. Link pumped Neah slowly, leaning back in to flatten his tongue and lap him slowly, tongue teasing the sides of him, tasting the salty sweetness of him. 

It felt good, somehow, and Link hated himself for it— it felt good to let go, to forget himself and think of nothing but Neah's pleasure. Neah threw his head back, his pale neck making a perfect arc, so beautifully responsive and everything, everything Link could have ever wanted.

When he closed his eyes, just concentrating on the weight of Neah's cock in his mouth and the way it twitched when Link ran the flat of his tongue along the shaft, he could almost bring himself to forget the slow heat of shame burning up the back of his mind. 

He wanted to make him feel good. 

He wanted to make him come.

He wanted to be  _good_  for him.

"Link, would you do something for me?" Allen asked, beautiful and breathless, carding his hands through Link's hair. The fact that he could make Allen feel this good, that he could  _please_  Allen like this, was slightly intoxicating. Link nodded slowly, feeling inexplicably slow and drunk on lust. "Get up on the bed. Take the rest of your clothes off."

Link complied without thinking. He watched breathlessly as Allen smiled coyly, lifting his shirt over his head and tossing it carelessly aside. Immediately he tracked the length of his body down, but Allen only laughed, shifting closer, hands on his pants, prepared to remove them.

"Now, get on your hands and knees."

It was easy. So easy to just do as he was told.

"I really do like you like this," Allen sighed, running his human hand down Link's exposed back.

"I love you," Link said mindlessly.

"Looks like  _someone's_  changed their tune."

There was the faint hint of a laugh in Allen's tone now. It warmed Link. Bracing himself against his palms, he tried to focus on what Allen was saying— what it meant. The two of them really hadn't gotten along when they'd first met, had they? Everything had been paperwork and inspections and protocol, back then. Simpler.

Allen's moved towards Link on his knees. He looked beautiful, white hair and pale skin and pale scars, though his eyes were different and somehow wrong—   _no, don't think about that, just think of this, of how beautiful he is._

And he was. Allen was so painfully beautiful, in the lull of his voice, the sweep of his eyes over Link, the smile he graced him with. He was everything Link could ask for, could dream of.

Allen reached with his arm of Innocence to the underside of Link's stomach and stroked his cock with the brush of his fingers, and Link gasped, head dipping and eyes closing.

Something about Allen Walker had broken Link. There could be no going back to the way things were.

Allen's hand slid up his bare back, along the dip of his spine, until his fingers threaded under the rosary, reaching into Link's hair. "This braid," he said, breath unbearably hot on Link's skin, "has to go."

Abruptly, he twisted and ran his hands down the grooves of his braid, yanking until the tie came off. Link hissed, head rearing back, and Neah laughed lightly, separating the braid until it fell over Link's shoulders. 

"That's better now."

Link exhaled sharply, the jut of his shoulders shifting with his every breath, and it shamed him that his arms trembled. As if to soothe him, Allen leaned forward, pressing a dry kiss between his shoulder blades, a smile on his lips.

Just then, he registered the sensation of the rosary being lifted over his head; he ducked his head, allowing for his loose hair to slip through with ease.

Be careful with that, he thought of saying, distantly— but of course, Allen wouldn't do anything as ridiculous as try to break it. He knew what it meant to Link. 

"You trust me, don't you?" Allen said, kneeling to whisper directly into Link's ears, beads clattering between his fingertips; red and white, Heaven and Earth.

Link nodded. There was never a doubt, now.

The wooden beads clicked quietly together, suddenly so far away as Allen drew it towards him. They shifted with muted clacks in Allen's palm, and his other hand drew away from Link's cock. He stifled a groan, dropping his head again.

"Do one more thing for me, Link?" Allen asked sweetly, and Link couldn't help but nod with no hesitation.  "Good. Come up here."

There was a moment before his thighs tensed, and he shifted upright, level with Allen. He nearly twisted to face him but Allen's hands on his waist stilled up, the beads obscenely cool between their skin. "No, like that."

Link waited, knees pressed into the mattress, staring ahead at the wall in front of him. Although he couldn't see him, he could feel Allen moving behind him, pressing up against Link to embrace him from behind. With an explorative gentleness, he trailed his hands across Link's stomach and chest, one hand dragging the beads over his skin until he was hyperaware of their definition, and Link sighed, eyes closed and head tilted back, just to feel the brush of Allen's soft hair against his.

Allen didn't stop until he completely embraced Link, lingering a moment there before he kissed his shoulder. Link didn't move, remaining still under the press and give of Allen's hands, fingers, his arms at his sides, his back against Allen's chest.

"Don't move," he said, lips moving across his skin, and Link didn't even nod before Allen's hands drifted away from his chest to his arms, tracing the curve of his forearm, his wrists, close enough to almost intertwine his fingers with. Allen's lips trailed up his shoulder, nosing his hair aside to press a kiss at Link's nape, and Link forced down a shiver.

"Look at you, you poor thing. You've really been starved of love, haven't you?" Allen's voice dropped to something like a whisper.  "It's alright, Link. You don't have to be alone anymore— not now that you're mine."

"Yours," Link said, bordering on desperation. "I'm yours."

Link tilted his head with a soft quiet sigh, chest filling with something, everything, overwhelming and too much. Allen, touching him, caressing him,  _wanting_  him. A hard kiss had his lips parting, and he almost turned, wanting to press into and against him, wanting  _more._

Then, Allen's touch turned forceful, grasping Link's wrists and bringing them together in front of them both.

Disoriented, Link could only watch as Allen wrapped the rosary around his hands, twisting and looping until the underside of his wrists met, palms uncomfortably close and fingers interlacing. The beads were almost painful as they dug into his skin, and just as it was getting unbearable Allen let go, the cross falling to dangle from between his tied hands.

"That's perfect, Link."

The praise swelled within him, and he was glad Allen was behind him. All the better that he couldn't see the flush in his cheeks, the sudden intake of breath.

Allen's hands retreated, the heat at his back further away, and shame licked at his heels as Link stared down at his clasped, bound hands. 

Suddenly, Allen's hand rested on his back, and before Link could question it he shoved, sending Link careening towards the bed with a laugh.

It left his arms stretched awkwardly in front of him, and Link almost shifted when Allen's hands slid along his sides, possessively curving over his chest, his waist, settling on his hips. Link's breath trembled in his chest, apprehension curling his toes.

There was the sound of a cap, maybe a bottle being opened, and Allen's fingers returned, slick. When he pushed two of his fingers into Link, Link's back bowed; scrabbling at sheets with bound hands. It didn't take much to make Link breathless; not when he was already so far gone with want.

Allen shifted between painstaking gentleness and rough, rapid efficiency at a somewhat dizzying pace. At first, he slid his spare hand over the small of Link's back in gentle reassurance, moving at a space so slow and so thorough that Link was gasping. Gasps broke off into choked cries when soothing circles became the grip of nails and Allen inserted a second finger, pressing up against Link in uninhibited anticipation.  
  
" _Mine_ _,"_ Allen said, voice completely raw. Link wanted to nod,  _yes, yes,_ yours, all yours, entirely—

He pulled away from Link— however, Link hardly had a moment to register his absence. Just as soon as Allen's touch had left him, leaving him empty and aching for more, Allen reached out for him again. One hand snaked its way into Link's hair, yanking it back into a harsh first; the other was steadying Link's hip, and Allen pushed into him slowly. 

Tight, hot, clenching around Allen in a manner that felt entirely outside his conscious control, tension strung through his entire body. Link had to fight to stay upright, overtaken by the fantastic temptation to sink down against the mattress and give himself over entirely to the sensation. He braced himself against his wrists, hands still bound by the twine of that red rosary. All the while, he let his breath out in stuttering gasps, canting his hips in Allen's direction when he sank back in again, deeper this time. Allen answered with a groan.

Perfect; oh god, it was  _perfect_  — urgent motions, all speed and no finesse, but it was impossible to slow down now.

Like this, desperate and needy and falling to fucking pieces, Link lost himself.

It wasn't that he didn't know, but it was so much easier. To squeeze his eyes shut, accept the seeking hands, the harsh grip, the beads tightening around his wrist. Like this, nothing mattered, except the heat around him, inside him, filling him and chasing away that horribly lonely ice cold chill.

_You're mine._

These weren't Allen's words— never would be. But right now, right here, if only for a minute, he could pretend they  _could_  be. Shut his eyes and fool himself; lose himself in the phantom memory of grey eyes and some half-imagined promise of love, a pure and unselfish love without conflict of interest, conflict against loyalty.

They were, after all, such beautiful words.

A curse tripped off Neah's tongue— a great and ugly thing. Link clenched his eyes shut, now openly panting, too far gone to make any use of his clarity, too close to the edge. The warm pool of  _want_ and  _need_ in his stomach was threatening to totally overcome him; a hot and insisting ache that built itself up with every thrust of Neah's cock. 

" _Fuck_ , Link, I'm gonna—"

There's the snap of Neah's hips, a hot and incredible friction, and Link let himself fall. He came with a broken sound, the strength in his arms and legs dissolving in the dizzying spark of it. He could feel Neah finish, carelessly, inside of him, gripping his hips and gasping for air.

For a long, unbroken moment, there was a blinding salvation. Here, with his mind blank, heart racing and chest heaving, it was like nothing had happened.

Neah pulled away, landing on the bed behind Link and breathing harshly, slowly, winding down. 

Then the moment passed and Link collapsed. He ignored the bed shifting behind him, even the footsteps alongside him, but jerked when Neah's hands rested on his wrists. It was impossible to hide the red streak of shame on his face, but Neah focused on unwinding the rosary from around his hands. The soft clack of wooden beads filled the silence as Link waited, motionless, for Neah to set him free.

"You're even better than I thought you'd be, you know," Neah said, slipping the rosary free and dropping it onto the bedside table. "You did good. My good boy."

Neah reached out to touch Link's hair, a touch that was so blatantly possessive in nature that Link's gut reaction was to recoil, turning away from Neah's kiss.

This didn't offend Neah in the slightest. If anything, he looked amused, laughing quietly as he reached out, again, to smooth back Link's hair. Link couldn't bear to look at him. He kept his eyes fixed on his sheets and did not look away, not even when Neah's hand retreated and he began to move about the room.

There was a rustle of clothing as Neah got dressed, then a beat of silence during which he stood, seemingly doing nothing. Link stared lifelessly at the linen sheets bunched under his arms. He could feel Neah's eyes on him, and he desperately wished that he would just leave, or say something, or do anything at all except watch Link like this.

He could hear the sharp intake of breath and tensed, waiting for the scathing words, except all Neah said was, "I'm going to go wash up."

When Link didn't reply, Neah left, the inn door closing behind him with a soft thud. Link buried his face against the mattress, swallowed by the silence.

The rosary beads had left a deep, ugly imprint on his wrists, red and marring him, and he closed his eyes against it, ashamed that even that reminded him of Allen. His legs were weak, thighs trembling faintly. The filth and sweat that coated him felt like tar, clinging to his skin. 

_Disgusting._

He wanted to scrape everything off of him; every touch, every kiss, caress, breath, _all of it,_ until nothing remained but the cross hanging on him, weighted with sin. He looked down through the curtain of his loose hair, damp with sweat, at the bright red stigmata winding its way around his wrists; the solid and undeniable proof of his weakness.

The marks would fade in less than a day. The scars, he suspected, would last a lifetime.

(He wondered if he would ever feel clean again.)

Link drew his hands in until he could press the heel of his hands against his eyes, stars bursting alight behind closed lids.

The ghost had disappeared, leaving behind leering golden eyes and careless cold smiles, and Link was aching for its memory, for that hope, that fleeting thought of  _this is what it would have been like._  

_It could have been real._

 

**Author's Note:**

> hurryupfic @ tumblr  
> nea-writes @ tumblr
> 
> what an emotionally draining project. incredibly engaging, but draining. many thanks to my love nea for being a brilliant collaborator, as always. ♡  
> \- h


End file.
